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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29505864">No Apologies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsyncgrrl/pseuds/nsyncgrrl'>nsyncgrrl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Music RPF, NSYNC, Pop Music RPF, Popslash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - World War II, M/M, Slash, Wartime Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:28:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29505864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsyncgrrl/pseuds/nsyncgrrl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Pearl Harbor on that infamous day back in December of 1941, this story is one I had a lot of fun researching, going so far as to tour an actual battleship that served during WWII.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lance Bass/Justin Timberlake</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Apologies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, 6 December 1941</em>
</p><p>It's hard to imagine that it's already December here, with the palm trees and balmy breeze, the sparkling ocean, the sandy beaches. This is a tropical paradise, and December is a million miles away, just like the rest of the world. I keep having to remind myself I'm here on duty, I'm supposed to be here and someone is paying me to stay here, but it's hard on nights like these when I'm in Honolulu and the air is still and warm and smells of heady hibiscus blossoms. Here in this tiny bar every man's a sailor, the "undress-white" uniforms with blue neckerchiefs and Dixie-cup hats marking us all proud members of America's own navy, and even though it's getting late, the local girls are out tonight, mingling with the men and providing a breath of fresh air for us stale GIs.</p><p>But even though the waitress is a pretty Hawaiian girl my own age, I can't seem to keep my eyes from wandering over to Lance, sitting beside me and laughing at everything I say because he's had too much to drink tonight. I've known him for years -- we went to the same school back home, enlisted in the service at the same time, and somehow got assigned to the same company before being stationed on the U.S.S. Oklahoma together. I've always thought him pretty, with his green peridot eyes and his thick blonde hair, and tonight the lamplight shines in those jeweled eyes and his lips burn a dark red from the exotic drinks we're sharing, and all the girls in the room pale in comparison to him. When he looks at me with those champagne eyes, I don't know how I'll manage to sleep tonight, knowing he's sleeping in the narrow hammock below mine. "You want the rest of this, Justin?" he calls out, his voice louder than it needs to be in the crowded room. He's drunk.</p><p>"Sure," I say, taking the offered drink. It's a fruity alcoholic slush, and it melts on my tongue and slips down the back of my throat easily. I'm not as drunk as I'd like to be, it being Saturday and late enough that we should be heading back to the ship, but I don't want to lose these precious moments where we are just two sailors lost in the sea of the bar. As I finish the drink, I let my hand touch his knee below the table, almost absently, and I fight the urge to trail my fingers up the heated length of his thigh. <em>Watch it, Timberlake,</em> my mind warns through the haze of alcohol and smoke. <em>You're not that drunk.</em></p><p>But he doesn't brush my hand away, and when Joey stumbles into our table and says it's time to go, I don't want to leave. "Come on, boys," Josh calls, helping Joey stand. "Time to head back. The girls will still be here tomorrow."</p><p>Lance leans close to me and breathes, "But will we?" He laughs, leaning his head on my shoulder like it's too heavy to hold up anymore. It's a joke around the base -- the war's in Europe and here we are, stationed in the Pacific, drinking margaritas and wearing leis and living it up. Any moment it can all end, we know this, but it's so hard to believe when we're drinking down the salt and lime and waiting for America to join in the war.</p><p>"You're drunk," Josh says, smiling, and I begin to giggle at him. The four of us pal around a lot, and he's the only one who never drinks. Joey's already half gone, I can tell by the way he's smiling at every nurse and barmaid who passes by, winking and offering them a place to stay tonight like he could really sneak a woman onto the ship. Lance laughs again, burrowing his head into my shoulder, and maybe he <em>is</em> drunk but I like the feel of him against me, his breath warm where it curls beneath my collar, his hair ticklish along my chin. "You're both drunk. Time to leave."</p><p>"Aye, aye, cap'n," I say, trying to sound sincere, and that sets Lance off again. His laughter makes me smile and I squeeze his knee, daring to move my hand just a little higher up his thigh. I've never done this before, touched him this intimately, and I'm drunk, not from the alcohol anymore but from <em>him,</em> and his laughter, and the warm feel of his leg beneath the thin cotton pants of his uniform.</p><p>Standing up, Lance catches my hand in his and hauls me to my feet. "We're coming," he says, and Josh frowns at us like he thinks we might just fall back into our chairs when he turns around. Lance lets go of my hand as he pulls on his hat, and to keep from reaching for him again I fiddle with my own cap, folding it between my hands as we follow Josh and Joey out of the bar.</p><p>Outside the crash of surf on sand whispers beneath the laughter and music spilling from the bar. The warm breeze is thick with the scent of night flowers and seaspray, and I tell myself again it's December, a few weeks until Christmas, but I can't believe it. Lance staggers into me -- damn, he's wasted -- and without thinking I wrap one arm around his waist for support. He leans against my shoulder and I know I'll dream of him tonight, how can I not? I'll lie awake for hours in my hammock and ache for this touch again and wonder if he'll remember this evening and the flirty touches in the morning. "Justin." He breathes my name like a sigh.</p><p>I look at him, those eyes, that hair, and I can't keep from smiling. "What, Lance?"</p><p>He stops walking. "I'm sleepy," he announces, and Josh turns around in front of us. "I can't walk anymore. I just want to lie down here --" He starts to sit down on the ground, but my hand on his arm keeps him upright.</p><p>"Shit," Josh says, a little ticked. He's got Joey hanging all over him because he's too drunk to walk anymore, and I know the last thing he wants is to deal with another one of us. "The Jeep's not that far away. Get up, Lance." Looking at me beseechingly, he asks, "Justin, can you get him up?"</p><p>"I'm trying," I say, but it's hard when I'm laughing and Lance's head is leaning on my thighs, his arms wrapping around my knees, his face almost in my crotch. "Lance, come on, man. Get up already. We're almost there." A goofy grin spreads across his face as he hugs my legs tighter, and I know I'm going to fall two seconds before I tumble backwards to the ground. "Lance," I whine, laughing as I make a weak attempt to push him off of me, but it's late and I'm tired and I don't really want him to let go. "Come on, Lance."</p><p>Then Josh is glaring down at us, and that sobers me up. "Sorry," I mutter, extracting myself from the tangle of arms and helping Lance to his feet. He sees the stern expression on Josh's face and frowns, mumbling an apology of his own.</p><p>"I'm glad you think this is funny," Josh says, and I feel my cheeks heat up. I look at my shoes and sigh like a reprimanded child, but part of me <em>does</em> think this is funny, part of me is having a blast. Part of me will never forget the way it felt when Lance was pressing me down into the ground, his body heavy on top of mine. "Now come on already."</p><p>"Josh, no," Lance says suddenly. "I'm tired. Can't you bring the Jeep around? I can't walk anymore."</p><p>Joey rouses himself and nods sagely. "I'll get the car," he mutters, pushing away from Josh.</p><p>With one of his patented <em>see what you've started?</em> looks, Josh grabs onto Joey's arm and says, "Fine. We'll get the Jeep. You two stay here."</p><p>"Like we're going anywhere else," I mumble, and Lance starts giggling again. Josh throws an evil glare back over his shoulder before leading Joey to the parking lot. Turning, I notice the weariness in Lance's face and sigh. "You really tired, eh?"</p><p>"Yeah," he says, walking over to a tall palm tree nearby. I follow him, watching the way his body moves beneath the white uniform he wears. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, he takes off his hat and toys with it in his hands. "He's pissed, you think?"</p><p>I lean beside him and shrug. "He's just Josh," I say, as if that explains it. This close in the darkness I can count each of his eyelashes if I wanted to, and every time he blinks I catch my breath to see the faint shadows flutter across his cheeks. I lean my head against the rough bark of the tree and can smell the faint aftershave he used this morning, a clean, delicious scent that clings to him like fog. He's watching the road, waiting for Josh and Joey to drive up, but he knows I'm watching him and every so often he'll glance at me from the corner of his eye, apprehensive, unsure. I can't stop staring at him, his pale skin, his glistening eyes, his full lips that part as his tongue licks them nervously. "Lance," I whisper, drunk on the moment and the night and him.</p><p>He clears his throat. "What?" he asks softly, turning towards me. He studies me for a moment, his eyes dulled with drink, and tentatively I reach up to touch his downy cheek. Closing his eyes, he leans into my touch, and that's all the prompting I need to move closer. My lips brush his with the gentlest of kisses, and at his sigh my heart begins to hammer in my chest. I kiss him again, stronger this time, pressing my lips to his in a velvet crush that is sweeter than I ever imagined it could be. I feel his hand on my chest, his fingers grasping the knot in my neckerchief as my lips part his and my tongue licks out to taste him experimentally. His slight moan goads me on, and I lean into him, my body pushing his against the tree behind us, my eagerness and hunger hard against his hip.</p><p>When I pull back, his eyes are still closed, his lips slightly parted. God, he's so beautiful, an angel on this island paradise, a vision in white on this dark evening. I stroke his cheek, feeling the soft skin beneath my fingers like I've imagined it a million times before, and his throat works reflexively as he swallows. He's afraid, I can feel it -- afraid that someone will see us, maybe, out here behind this tree, or afraid of the warclouds gathering on our horizon, or afraid of me, and my sudden tenderness, my hungry kisses. <em>Don't you know?</em> I want to say as I study him in the scant moonlight. <em>Don't tell me you never guessed, Lance, the way I feel for you. Don't tell me you never looked at me and couldn't see the lust and love and need in my eyes looking back.</em></p><p>I lean down for another kiss, but this time his hand hardens on my chest, suddenly strong and keeping me at bay. I frown, confused, as he swallows again and opens his eyes. I don't know what I expected to see there -- maybe a mirror of my own feelings, a sudden realization that he's always loved me too, <em>that</em> would be nice -- but his pale green eyes waver, watery and unsure. "No," he whispers, his usually deep voice failing him at the moment. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Justin, no."</p><p>"Why not?" I want to know. My body aches for him, my lips tingle at the memory of our kiss.</p><p>But he pushes me away, and suddenly I see it all, too clearly. I just assumed he'd feel the same -- how could he not? But he doesn't, and in my drunken state I've made a mess of things, of <em>us.</em> I kissed him, showed him with the press of my body how much I wanted him, <em>how</em> I needed him, and he doesn't feel the same about me, and I'm a fool, I'm an idiot, why the hell did I kiss him in the first place? Now things can never be as they were between us, we can never be the best of friends, because he'll know that every time I look at him, my thoughts are on the two of us together, our bodies entwined in passion and lust, my heart aching with a desire he'll never feel. Covering my eyes with my hand, I sigh and <em>dammit</em> why didn't I think before I kissed him? Why couldn't I have been stronger? "I'm sorry," I mumble, and I am, oh God, I'm sorry, in ways I never <em>thought</em> I'd be, I'm sorry. "Lance, please --"</p><p>"It's okay," he says gruffly, but it's <em>not</em> okay, it'll <em>never</em> be okay, not again. He clears his throat again and I want to ask him to stop it, please just stop it, just tell me what he's thinking and maybe he's too drunk to remember this moment, maybe things will be okay in the morning, even if they aren't right now. I hear a horn and the crunch of tires over gravel, and his hand on my wrist is warm and friendly and nothing else, nothing more. "Come on, Justin. They're here."</p><p>"I'm sorry," I say again. I can't say it enough.</p><p>"I know," Lance replies. Tugging at my wrist, he says, "Let's go back to the ship, okay? Just, please?"</p><p>I watch the ground as I follow him to the Jeep. In the back seat I stare out at the road as we drive back to the harbor, ignoring Joey's drunken snores beside me and Josh's questioning gaze in the rear-view mirror. I stare out at the night passing by and don't look at Lance at all, even though he's watching me in the passenger side mirror. I don't want to look up and see the remnants of our friendship in his eyes, dying from one stupid little kiss.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>When the bugle calls reveille the next morning, my head is cloudy with the drink and the memory of the kiss. God, I hope Lance doesn't remember. I hope he somehow managed to sleep off the taste of my lips and forget the press of my body against his, even though my skin burns where we touched. I hope he doesn't remember and I hope that things are still cool between us, because he's my best friend and I can't imagine how I'll ever make it through these next few years in the service without him by my side. <em>Please forget that moment of weakness,</em> I pray as I roll out of my hammock. His own hammock is empty beneath mine, which means he's already up and probably already in the galley, eating breakfast, and it also means he remembers because he always waits for me. Always. And the fact that he hasn't can only mean that he remembers the kiss and hates me for it. God, I hate myself for the way it turns me on to remember it, even though it shouldn't -- even though I know it meant nothing to him, it still means the world to me.</p><p>I get dressed in my blue denim fatigues, my cap squashing down curls that I need to get cut again but I'm on leave until tomorrow, so I can wait until Monday to see the barber. Joey's the only other sailor still asleep, and from his light snores I know he's passed out from whatever it was he drank last night, but Lance didn't wait for me this morning and I'm in a pissy mood so I tip Joey's hammock as I pass, spilling his sleeping ass onto the floor. "Wha --?" he sputters, rubbing the shock of hair on his head and blinking the sleep from his eyes.</p><p>"Get up, Fatone," I say, straightening my uniform one final time before heading up to the galley.</p><p>"It's Sunday," he mutters, as if I don't know. He blinks at me blearily before climbing back into his hammock. Pulling his blanket over his skivvies, he buries his head into the pillow and begins to snore again.</p><p>I sigh. Yeah, it's Sunday, and Lance and I were going to go into Honolulu again today, get in some Christmas shopping, just little knick-knacks to send home to our folks, but as I trudge up the metal stairs, my heels ringing dull echoes on the steel, I wonder if he'll still want to go into town with me now. I shouldn't have kissed him, I know this, but damn if it didn't feel more wonderful than I ever thought it could. And I'd thought about it a lot, lying awake at night, wondering how he would taste on my tongue and what he'd feel like in my arms and how he'd sound when we made love. Last night he looked at me as if he wondered those same things, and I wanted to show him how good it could be, how perfect we were together, how much he meant to me and how I wanted him to mean so much more. When our lips touched, I felt as if the world had stopped -- nothing else mattered in that instant, not the war on the European front, not the rumors trickling in about the Japanese attacking America, nothing else but him and me and the moment and the kiss.</p><p>And then he pushed me away. With my hand on the handle to the galley door, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever I'll see in his eyes today. Inside the galley, the tables are already crowded with sailors in fatigues, their trays filled with eggs and potatoes and toast. I smile halfheartedly when Josh waves, and Lance looks at me briefly before turning back to his food. No smile, just a naked wariness my kiss put on his features, and I'm not hungry anymore. I just go through the motions of getting a tray and letting the cook fill it up. He hates me, I know it.</p><p>I sit down beside Josh and Lance looks up at me from across the table. "Hey," he says softly, and I choke back a sudden sob that burns my throat.</p><p>"Hey." I toy with the food on my tray, mashing the eggs with my fork and trying not to watch his jaw as he chews. "Joey's still asleep, lazy ass."</p><p>Josh laughs. "He's still passed out, you mean," he says, finishing off his own eggs. "You guys shouldn't drink so much. I ain't dragging you back to the ship again. Next time, I'll just leave you there. You can explain to the captain why you didn't make it back."</p><p>Lance smiles, and even though it's not at me, my heart still rises to see the curve of his lips. "You wouldn't do that," he says, and he's right, Josh isn't the type to leave his friends like that. He's threatened it before.</p><p>"Just watch me," Josh says. "You never know. Just you wait and see." An uneasy silence falls around us, despite the talk at other tables. I manage to get a forkful of eggs into my mouth, but they taste soggy and bland and it's all I can do to swallow them down. I want to tell Lance I'm sorry again, I want to apologize until he has to forgive me, he just <em>has</em> to, but I don't want to say anything with Josh right here because then he'll want to know what I'm sorry for, and I know Lance doesn't want me to say. I'm sure he'd just rather forget, or pretend the whole thing never happened, and I wonder if he still tastes my lips on his. I want to ask him that, I want to know ... "What's wrong, Curly?" Josh asks as I grimace at my tray. I don't know how I'm going to finish the food -- I don't feel like eating now. I'm pouting and I know it, I can't help it, and Lance looks up at me with a slight frown on his face. "You look like you just lost your best friend. And you're on <em>leave,</em> boy. Cheer the hell up, already."</p><p><em>Well, Josh,</em> I want to say, <em>I did lose my best friend. For one little kiss, I threw everything we had away. What the hell was I thinking?</em> I wasn't that drunk, I wasn't. But I'm not going to say that, and he's waiting for an answer, and Lance is watching me closely, waiting to see what I'll say, so I just shrug and shovel more tasteless food into my mouth so I don't have to reply. It's easier this way, I think. Maybe I'll just pretend it didn't happen. Maybe then it won't have happened, except for in my mind, and Lance can still laugh and joke with me and never know how I really feel about him.</p><p>But I feel his pale gaze on me like an anchor, weighing me down, and I know I can't pretend, I know it won't go away. I'm going to have to tell him I'm sorry and just hope that there's time enough to mend what we had before I tore it to shreds last night. "I'm fine," I mumble, eating my eggs and keeping my eyes down so I don't have to look at Lance, I don't have to see those pinked lips that I now know taste like peaches in summer or that pale skin I know feels softer than anything else I've ever touched before. I choke down the eggs and the potatoes and the stale toast and wonder how I'll ever find the words to tell him I'm not sorry for kissing him but I'm sorry for how it made him feel.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>Joey sets his tray down across from me as I finish eating. "Hey guys," he says, his voice still thick with sleep. It's a good thing this is Sunday and he's on leave, because his hair sticks out everywhere and his uniform is so wrinkled, he'd catch hell with the captain otherwise. As he sits down next to Lance, he nudges him with one elbow and asks, "You two still heading into town this morning?"</p><p>I wait for Lance's answer because I'm wondering the same thing. We haven't spoke two words to each other since last night, and I don't know how we'll make it through the day if we go into Honolulu as planned, but I don't want to lose him as a friend. I want him, any part of him, in my life. So when he shrugs and glances at me, I hold my breath, waiting. "I don't know," he says, and I want to cry. That means no, and it's all my fault.</p><p>Joey laughs. "You don't know?" he cries, as if it's the funniest answer he's heard in a long time. He winks at me and adds, "What about you, Justin? You still going or don't you know, either?"</p><p>"We were going to go together --" I start, shrugging, but Lance pushes away from the table and stands up, anger clouding his face.</p><p>"You can go if you want," he says, frowning down at me. "Don't let me keep you here in Pearl. I just don't know if I feel like going or not." With that, he turns and stalks out of the galley.</p><p>"Lance --" I sigh and push my tray away. Damn. There he goes, walking out the door, out of my life, I just know it, and I'm too damn sorry and too damn weak to follow him.</p><p>Quietly, Joey asks, "What happened between you two?" Even Josh is looking at me, waiting for an answer.</p><p>"I don't know," I mutter, because I can't tell them, I just can't. How would they even begin to understand? "I don't fucking know anymore."</p><p>Elbowing me in the arm, Josh says, "Well, I suggest you go find out." The look in his eyes strengthens my resolve and when he elbows me again, I stand up, my tray in my hands. Sure, I'll find out. I'll follow Lance and talk to him and tell him I'm sorry and I want him back as a friend and if he can just forget the kiss then I can pretend I don't want him that way and things can be okay between us again. I can do that. Josh thinks I can do that so maybe I can. "We'll take up your tray," he says. "Just find out what's up with him."</p><p>"Thanks," I say, leaving my tray on the table. I push through the door Lance just exited and catch a glimpse of his retreating back down a nearby stairwell. "Lance," I call out, taking the narrow steps two at a time in my haste to catch up.</p><p>He goes down the next set of stairs and glances back at me. "Justin, please," he says, and the pain in his voice almost makes me stumble. "I don't want to talk right now."</p><p>"But I think we should," I say, turning the corner and hurrying down the next flight of stairs. I don't know where he's headed, since we've already passed the deck housing the barracks, but I'm keeping him in sight. We're going to talk. I have to tell him. "Lance, I'm sorry."</p><p>"You said that last night," he says, ducking into an open doorway.</p><p>"I know," I say, following him, "but I am. I really am. Please listen to me."</p><p>"I'm listening," he says, but it's hard to talk to the back of his head, it's hard to follow him and watch the way his denim fatigues pull at his shoulders and butt and try to tell him I'm sorry when all I want to do is catch him in a strong embrace and kiss him silly.</p><p>Ahead of us is the battleship's boiler room, and it's hot down here, humid and damp, and I know once he ducks through the door he'll use the twists and turns to lose me, and I don't want that, we need to talk about this, we need to -- "Lance, stop," I say, stopping myself. He takes another step before halting. At least he still respects me enough to listen. "Look at me."</p><p>Slowly he turns around. I see the pain in his eyes, the pain I put there, and I want to cry. I want to fall to my knees and hug his legs and tell him over and over again I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to be this way, I thought it would be different and it's not and I'm sorry. But the words choke in my throat and he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his pants while he waits for me to say something else. Finally he asks, "What, Justin?"</p><p>Rubbing my forehead with one hand, I sigh and ask, "Can we just talk? Please?"</p><p>"So talk," he says, as if it's that easy.</p><p>Behind me I hear footsteps on the metal stairs, and I frown. It's about quarter to eight in the morning, and the sailors coming down would be the men relieving those in the boiler room, and we can't talk here, not where they can find us. Pointing back the way we came, I say, "Not here. Come on."</p><p>At first he doesn't move. But at the stairway I look back and he sighs, running a hand through his hair and pushing his hat off in the process. Picking the cap up from the ground, he steps back into the hall and looks at me with those eyes as if to say <em>well? I'm here. What more do you want?</em> Lance, if only I could tell you. If only I could somehow find the courage to say the words, but how can I when just a little kiss frightened you so? Glancing up at the sailors coming around the corner on the deck above us, he asks, "Justin, where --"</p><p>"Here," I say, turning the hatch on a supply closet. I pull the metal door back and wait as he steps inside, flicking on the overhead lights as he enter. I follow him in and pull the door closed, turning the hatch to seal it shut.</p><p>Now that we're alone, I don't know what to say or how to begin. I still don't have the words I need, and I'm wondering if I'll ever find them at all. I look nervously around the narrow closet -- it's mostly empty, just a bucket and mop in the corner, a shelving unit along one wall, a few assorted tools scattered here and there. Not the most used room on the ship. "Justin," Lance says, sighing, "I don't think this is a good idea."</p><p>"I just want to talk," I say, frowning. When I look at him and see the anguish looking back, I add softly, "I'm sorry, Lance."</p><p>"You keep saying that," he points out. He looks around the room, at the shelves, at the walls, at the mop, everywhere but at me.</p><p>"I am," I say. God, I am. "I'm sorry, Lance, really. If there was any way I could turn back time and take it back, believe me, I would. I don't know what got into me last night, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I'm so sorry --"</p><p>Lance frowns. "Stop saying that," he says, but now that I've started, I can't stop. I want him to know how much I want back what I crushed in that brief kiss.</p><p>"Lance, I am --"</p><p>"Justin, stop it, now." His voice takes on a hard edge, and for a moment neither of us speak. Muffled voices and the ring of shoes on metal steps beyond the sealed door echo around us, distant and muted. Finally he looks at me, tears in his eyes, and I bite my lip to keep from apologizing again. "Just stop it. Please stop telling me you're sorry. I know it was a mistake, okay? You don't have to keep driving the point home."</p><p>"It wasn't --" I frown, confused. Daring a step closer, I reach out to touch his arm, but he shrugs away. "Lance, it wasn't a mistake. I mean, it was, but it wasn't ... it's not how you think."</p><p>"Well," he says, taking a deep breath to steady himself, "tell me then, Justin. Tell me how it is." I don't answer immediately -- does he really want to know that I think of him constantly, that in my mind I make sweet love to him on sandy beaches beneath starry skies, that I hold him tightly and never let him go, that my kisses warm him at night and my hands roam his body and does he really want to know all of that? A steady drone buzzes somewhere above the ship, miles away it seems, planes coming into the base for refueling or supplies, maybe, even though it's still early. What is it now, about eight o'clock? Lance and I are supposed to be in town already, not here in some closet below deck trying to sort things out. This is my fault. "Justin?" Lance asks. He's waiting for an answer.</p><p>"I don't know how it is," I whisper, because I don't. "Lance --"</p><p>Suddenly a scream pierces the air, the windy whistle of incoming artillery, and I look up as if I can see through the decks above us and see what's making that infernal screech. Beneath our feet the floor shakes, the walls twist away, the shelves launch at us, the mop and the tools and the bucket take flight and fling themselves our way. I duck into Lance as he bends down over me, his hands on my waist in a protective gesture that makes my throat close up because he doesn't realize he's doing it, he's just going on instinct now, and his rough touch tells me a million things words could never say. The ship rocks around us as we cower on the ground in each other’s' arms, and then a horrendous tearing fills the air, a sound so low and so dull it makes my head pound and my teeth ache to hear it, the telltale scrape of iron peeling away from the hull, and the screaming never stops, the world turns and the screaming fills my ears until I'm deaf and my throat aches and I know it's not bombs or shells anymore, it's me, it's me screaming, and as the walls fold in on us and the door buckles and the room spins, I don't think I'll ever stop.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>It's dark. God, I open my eyes and it's still dark. I hear faint screams and the rush of water and the wail of bombs, the rattat stutter of sixteen-inch guns, each explosion shaking through me. I feel warm arms clutching me close, I hear the rapid thud of a heartbeat against my cheek, and when I smell Lance's aftershave I wonder if I'm dead and this is heaven, this closed space, these tight arms. I raise my hand to my face and feel damp tears on my cheeks -- I hope it's tears, I hope it's not blood, even though my fingers find a tender spot on my forehead that I think is bleeding. I cup my hand in front of my eyes and blink, feeling the flutter of lashes against my palm, so I know my eyes are open, it's just too dark to see anything. When I sit up, Lance's arms tighten around me reflexively. "Justin?" he asks, his voice a whisper in the darkness.</p><p>"I'm okay," I say, though I don't know if I am, not really. I don't know how badly my head is cut, and I feel achy and sore all over. I push the mop off of me and kick away the bucket it was in. "Are you okay?"</p><p>"Fine," he says, his voice shaky. His hands stay on my arm, as if he's afraid to lose me in this tiny room, this sudden darkness. "What the hell happened?"</p><p>"I don't know." I don't. I can hear shouts somewhere, echoing through the ship's pipes. I can hear water rushing through the walls around us, and I wonder how much we've taken on, how we were even <em>hit,</em> but mostly how much water the ship has in her now and how long we've got to get out. We have to get out. The power's out or the alarm would be sounding, calling all hands to their battle stations. Something happened, an air raid, a sudden attack, <em>something,</em> and we have to get out <em>now.</em></p><p>As I stand up on weak legs, Lance holds onto my hand with both of his. "Where are you going, Justin?" he asks.</p><p>"I don't know," I say again, because I don't. I have this vision in my mind of the shallow harbor, and I can swim but not if I'm trapped in here, not if I'm stuck in the ship. "We have to get out."</p><p>Lance pulls himself up beside me. "I know," he says, his voice calmer than it should be. Doesn't he see? We have to get out <em>now.</em> I head for the door and he holds me back. "Justin, wait --"</p><p>"We have to get out," I tell him, and there's a hint of hysteria in my voice that I don't like, not one bit. I swallow it down and try to tell myself this is Lance, he knows we have to get out, he's holding onto me and we'll get out together, if he just holds onto my hand we'll get out of this together, I know we will. I stumble in the darkness and reach out only to find the wall at an odd angle, and my feet kick at a metal hump in the floor. Bending down, I feel the wire casing that houses the light fixture. What's it doing down here? I pick at it but it's stuck, soldered to the metal ceiling, and suddenly my knees buckle and I sit down, I sit down on the <em>ceiling,</em> the ship's upside down and there's no <em>way</em> we're going to get out of this, we're trapped and it's my fault because I wanted to talk to Lance about that stupid little kiss and it's my fault we're stuck here in this metal coffin and the walls are so close, the air is stale and I have to get out, we have to get out we have to --</p><p>Then Lance's arms are around me again, his hands pressing my face into his chest, and he's sobbing, telling me it's going to be okay, it's going to be fine, just calm down, just calm down, just please for the love of God, calm down, Justin, please. I grab fistfuls of his shirt and try to breathe slowly, smelling his scent and his closeness and listening to him say everything's going to be alright. When I hear metal creak below us and the ship shifts as it settles, I whisper, "It's all my fault, Lance. I'm sorry."</p><p>"Hush," he says, hugging me tight. "If we were up on deck we might have been killed instantly."</p><p>I sniffle and dry my eyes on his shirt. "We should've been on shore," I point out. "We should've been in town, miles away and <em>safe</em> --"</p><p>"The town might be gone," he says, his deep voice quiet, and he's right, the town <em>might</em> be gone. The whole island might be gone, for all we know. Maybe we're the only ones alive anymore. Maybe we're the only ones who survived. "Just calm down, Justin. Calm down and let's just think this through, okay?"</p><p>"Okay," I whisper, but I can't think, my mind is numb. I just cling to him and try not to imagine the ship sinking lower and lower, taking us with it to the bottom of the harbor.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>I don't know how long it's been since the lights went out. Ten minutes, maybe ten hours. In the dark time drifts away like a life preserver just out of reach and bobbing further out with each wave. The metal floor -- which is really the ceiling, because we're upside down, but I'm not going to think about that, Lance said not to think about it but we're upside down and sinking but I'm not thinking about that at <em>all</em> -- the floor I'm sitting on is cold through my fatigues and I can hear water rushing through the wall behind me, filling up the ship, bogging us down but I don't think about that. I think about how close Lance is sitting next to me, the warmth where his shoulder rests against mine, the press of his thigh on my leg, and I hug my knees to my chest and close my eyes and see his green eyes behind mine, his sweet smile, the way his hair sticks up from his forehead in the morning and the way his lips turn a pinkish red when he eats and the way he smells. I can smell him now, his aftershave sharp beneath the brine and steel and smoke. Beneath us the ship shifts again, and my voice is shaky when I whisper, "We're sinking."</p><p>"No shit," Lance says, his voice barely audible. He clears his throat and adds, "Just don't think about it."</p><p>"I'm not," I say quickly, but that's a lie. After a few moments I say, "We should get out of here."</p><p>"I know that," Lance replies. So calm. So sure. So cool. How the hell can he just act as if nothing is wrong? I wish I knew. I want some of his strength, I need it right now, I need something to hold me down and keep me here because parts of me are disappearing, in this darkness, I can feel them fade away. My legs, for one -- they're gone, numb from the cold metal and the position I'm in, I can't feel my toes anymore and I think I'm being erased, piece by piece. Next it'll be my waist, then my chest, my arms, my neck, until all that's left is my head and that will disappear too, that will vanish and I'll be gone.</p><p>But if Lance keeps talking to me maybe his voice can anchor me here, keep me alive, keep me sane. "We're sinking," I say again, just because I know he'll reply and I want to hear him speak.</p><p>"Justin," he sighs, and he's exasperated but at least he's talking. At least I still exist for him. "I know that. Just calm down."</p><p>"I am calm," I say nervously. I've never been more calm in my life. Never. "We should get out of here."</p><p>"Justin, please," Lance says, and I bite my lip because now I've made him mad.</p><p>"I'm sorry," I whisper, and now that I've said it again I realize just how sorry I am and I can't stop. "I'm so sorry, Lance, for everything, really I am. I'm sorry about last night, and I'm sorry about this morning, and I'm sorry that I chased you away and locked you in here with me and now the ship's sinking and I'm sorry, it's all my fault, I'm so sorry --"</p><p>"Stop it," Lance says softly. His hand touches my arm, a comforting gesture in the dark. "If you say you're sorry again, I'm going to have to hurt you."</p><p>I hear the smile in his voice and it's on the tip of my tongue to apologize again when I realize what he's saying and I laugh. It's a scary laugh, and for a minute I think I won't stop, but it makes me feel a little better, at least. "Okay, I won't," I say quietly. Then I ask, "Do you think we can swim for it?"</p><p>Now he laughs. "Where would we go?" he asks.</p><p>I shrug, my shoulder brushing against his in the darkness. "We can swim up the staircase," I say. The hatches were open between decks before we sank, so they should still be open, right? "Just follow the stairs up to the main deck and then swim up to the surface." It could work. I know it could.</p><p>Lance sighs. "What if the stairs are blocked?" he asks softly, and the hope blossoming in my chest is blown apart like a dandelion gone to seed.</p><p>"Well, we can at least <em>try,</em>" I say. It's better than sitting here, doing nothing. It's better than just accepting this, better than being trapped here.</p><p>"And if we can't find a way to the main deck?" Lance asks, and <em>damn</em> him and his voice of reason. I want to cry now, can't we even just <em>try</em> it, just <em>see</em> if we can escape? "What if we can't find the way out, and we get lost and can't find our way back? Then what, Justin?" When I don't answer, he says, "Then we drown. I don't want to take that chance."</p><p>"Me, either," I whisper, mostly because I don't want to leave if he's not coming with me. I feel myself pouting in the darkness, and the floor below me has grown colder, damp and icy, and when I touch the metal, my hand comes away wet. Wet. <em>Fuck.</em> I raise my hand, reaching out in the dark to where Lance is, and I touch his warm cheek with my damp palm. "We're leaking," I breathe. Damn it all to hell, we're <em>leaking.</em> "Lance?"</p><p>"Shit," he sighs, and then he scrambles over me, his body warm and heavy in the darkness, his hands searching the metal floor and wall for cracks. I scoot away from the water seeping into my pants and hold onto his shoulders, not wanting to lose this intimate closeness. "I found it," he says, and my own fingers find his in the darkness, pressed against a small tear in the seam of the wall. Cold water pumps through the tiny hole, splashing our fingers and freezing them numb.</p><p>I tug off my cap and shove it into the hole. It won't hold but it's something, at least. "We're going to die," I whisper, leaning back against the wall. Lance is above me, so close in the darkness, and I swallow thickly because I want to kiss him again, we're going to die and I want to kiss him now more than ever.</p><p>He rests his forehead on my knees and sighs. "We're not going to die," he says, but the conviction isn't in his voice anymore because he knows the truth. He's just lying to make it easier for me, and I swear to myself that I'll kiss him again, just before we die. I promise I will.</p><p>And this time there will be no apology.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>We move to the far side of the room, away from the pool of icy water slowly gathering near the door. I can hear the insidious trickle seeping through the soaked fabric of my hat and I think maybe the hole in the hull has gotten wider. I think maybe it's only a matter of time now before the water reaches us, lapping over our shoes and around our ankles and dragging us down with the ship. But I can hear Lance's faint breath beside me and as long as he's here I think maybe I can ignore the water and the creeping death slowly approaching and the fact that we're just sitting here and still <em>sinking</em> ... I can try to ignore that as long as he stays here, right here beside me.</p><p>Tentatively I reach out and touch his leg, my hand resting on his knee like it did last night at the bar, and he doesn't shy away. "Lance?" I ask, my voice just a small sound in the vast darkness surrounding us.</p><p>His fingers fold into my palm and he squeezes my hand tightly. "I'm right here," he says. "We're going to be okay, Justin, I promise."</p><p>How can he promise that? I want to ask him but he's making such a valiant effort, trying to be strong for me, trying to be hopeful and positive, and I love him for it. Who am I kidding? I love him anyway. I always have. "About last night --" I start. I want to talk about it. I have to tell him now, or I may never get the chance.</p><p>"Justin, it's alright," he says, cutting me off.</p><p>"No," I say, frowning. "You don't understand."</p><p>Lance sighs. "I do," he whispers. "You were drunk, we were <em>both</em> drunk. That's all."</p><p>I bite my lower lip and tighten my hand in his. "That's <em>not</em> all," I say. It's not. "I wasn't that drunk, Lance. I ..." I sigh. Why is this so damn hard? "I wanted to kiss you. I've always wanted to."</p><p>He takes a deep breath and envelopes my hand in both of his. "Why?" he chokes. I wish it wasn't dark -- I want to see his face right now, I want to see what lies behind those pale eyes and then I'll know why his voice sounds so strained, like he's angry or upset. If only I could see his face.</p><p>I shrug. God, what am I supposed to say? That I've been in love with him since we met, all those years ago back in high school? That every touch numbs my mind and makes me ache for more? That I've dreamed of kissing him and holding him and loving him, and that I can't imagine my life without him, he's that much a part of me? "I love you," I whisper, and because it's the truth it sounds like I'm shouting it from the top of my lungs, I can hear it louder than the water rushing around us and the creaking beams and the ghostly knocks echoing through the pipes. Lance's hand crushes mine in a sudden grip and I know he's hating me but now that the words are out I can't take them back, so I say them again. "I love you, Lance. I can't help it, I'm sorry, but I do." Long minutes drip away between us, and his palm grows damp in mine, his breath steady and even, and I'd give anything to see him right now, to see his expression and to know what he's thinking. "Lance?" I ask, scared. "Say something, please."</p><p>His deep voice is a relief in the darkness. "I told you to stop apologizing," he says softly, and he's so close -- when did he move this close? His breath fans my cheek and my fingers clench his to keep from reaching for his face. Then his nose brushes mine, a gentle caress in the darkness, and his lips find mine, his mouth covering mine in a breathless kiss. I sob, a faint sound lost in the moan that escapes my throat when his tongue slips between my lips and he tastes as sweet as I remember, sweeter even, and I cradle his face in my hands and pull him closer and his hands encircle my waist, hugging me tight, and I want him, I want him so badly, I can't believe he's kissing <em>me</em> now, now he's kissing <em>me.</em> And I don't care that we're sinking anymore, I don't care that we're stuck and we're going to die, because now he's kissing me.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>It's easier with his arms around me, holding me tight, my head on his shoulder. I'm sitting between his legs and lying back into his embrace and it's easier like this, thinking of the ship sinking and our friends and shipmates, dead or dying now, I'm sure. I wonder if anything is left from the attack. I wonder if it was just Pearl that was hit or if the bogies went after the cities, too. There's no way we're not getting into this war now. We've been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the fray.</p><p>But I'm not screaming anymore. I'm calm. I can handle this. I can become just another statistic, a memory to my family and a rallying cry to our troops. I can forgive whoever did this and die here in this steel tomb because Lance is here with me, and he's holding me, and he's whispering into my ear how much he's always loved me, how much he's wanted me and how he's been so afraid to even hint at the way he felt because he thought I'd never love him back. His breath is soft on my cheek, his lips warm and damp behind my ear, where he's kissing me and murmuring gentle words of love and forever and I believe him. When the water licks my shoes we stand up and he hugs me against him, afraid to let go now that we've finally found each other. Our fingers are entwined and I feel his heart beat against my back, I feel his body press against mine with a promise and an ache that we can't give into, not now, but he's holding me and that's all I want. That's all I need. I can handle this as long as he holds on and never lets me go.</p><p>The echoes through the pipes have taken on a hollow ring, the sounds of other men trapped as we are, beating out a steady stutter of Morse code, an "S.O.S." haunting in the darkness like a restless spirit. Before I would've cried, shouted at them to stop it, stop banging, stop it, it's useless, it's all in vain, no one hears us, no one knows we're here. But Lance's kisses burn my lips and maybe all's not lost yet, maybe someone knows, maybe there's still hope for us. In his arms I think maybe there's still a chance we'll get out of this alive.</p><p>Even if we don't, at least we'll be together.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>At first it's just another sound in the never-ending night, a whirr of white noise that rattles the fillings in my teeth. Then I realize it's the wall behind us, resonating at such a high frequency that I think my eyes are going to shake lose and tumble to the water circling our legs. The water is cold and up to our knees already, and the only warmth anymore is where Lance's body hugs mine, his arms around my back, my arms around his waist. He leans on his head my shoulder and sighs as the vibrations shatter through us. "We're sinking," I say. It's just the ship settling in the sandy shoal, the masts snapping off in the shallow silt, the decks grinding into the bed of the harbor. That's all it is. We're settling into our final resting place now. It's just a matter of time.</p><p>Lance fists his hands into the back of my shirt, grabbing handfuls of the fabric in a reflexive gesture. "No," he whispers, hugging me tight. "I think that's outside. Above us. Listen."</p><p>So I listen. I can hear muffled shouts, the echo of shoes on steel, the far-off buzz of torches and jackhammers and sweet <em>Jesus</em> could it be that someone <em>knows</em> we're down here? That the attack is over? It sounds like someone is up on the hull now, God Himself even, pounding away with a dozen hammers made of the hardest titanium and cutting through the steel siding with a horde of blow torches as fiery as the pits of Hell. "Lance, is that ..." I let my voice trail off because I don't know quite <em>what</em> it is and I don't dare hope. "You don't think --"</p><p>His kiss quiets me, and the room rings with the sounds from above, glorious music like angels' voices reverberating through golden cathedral bells, pealing out salvation with each thud that shakes the ship.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>I remember sunlight, a shaft piercing the darkness and blinding us both. I remember rough hands, pulling me up, out of the tomb, out of the ship, away from Lance. I cry his name but am too damn weak to fight the strong hands supporting me, leading me away. At the hospital nurses circle me like hueys looking to land, and all around me men lie dying, bleeding and burned, their moans and sighs and screams more horrible than the faint echoes I heard in the belly of the Oklahoma. Japanese fighters, they tell me, striking at dawn and all but eradicating Battleship Row. Seven of America's finest ships, destroyed. Hundreds of Americans, dead. There's no way we can stay out of the conflict now. The scent of war hangs heavy in the air, cloying and bitter like the salts the nurses use to revive the unconscious wounded. They keep me in a bunk for observation -- the gash in my head has healed but they stitch it up a bit anyway, just to be sure -- and I lie on the starched sheets and listen to the labored breathing around me and wonder where Lance is. I want him here with me now. I want him here by my side.</p><p>In the darkness he whispered that he wanted me, that he loved me, that he wanted to hold me forever and kiss me breathless and love me like I've always dreamed of. He promised long nights in his arms, and I know it wasn't just words spoken in a moment of desperation. I felt it in his kiss, his lips still tingling on my own. I felt it in the way his breath curled around my cheek, the way his mouth sucked on my ear, the way his fingers roamed through my curls and brushed the dampness from my brow. I can never forget that, and I'm not going to let him forget it, either.</p><p>But he hasn't forgotten. When I wake up that night from a restless sleep I find him sitting on the edge of my bed, my hand in both of his, and he's smiling down at me with those eyes and those lips that I never thought I'd see again. I hug him close, tears in my eyes, and I whisper that I love him. His quick kiss on my cheek is all the answer I need to know that he hasn't forgotten, that he <em>won't</em> forget, and that he loves me too.</p>
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